


Tilted: Timestamp

by thehighwaywoman



Series: Tilted 'Verse [4]
Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehighwaywoman/pseuds/thehighwaywoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timestamp for the "Tilted" 'verse, originally posted on LiveJournal in March 2008. Takes place previous to the rest of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tilted: Timestamp

"Hey." Someone nudges Steve. "Hey, you awake?"

Steve squints up. He's fallen asleep on the couch again, dozing while he waits out the hours overlapping between his day shift at Ford and Chris's shift at the mill. He sits, dislodging the green-and-white stadium blanket he remembered to toss over himself before he nodded off. The glare of light pouring in from the street outside makes it hard to see who's there. "Chris? You home already?" 

"Why? You expecting someone else?" Humor turns Chris's voice warm, where usually it's bitter-raspy as dried myrrh. 

Lips quirked in a wry smile, still half-awake, Steve peers at the cockeyed clock atop the TV and gives up right away on trying to make sense of the hands. "Wha' time is it?"

"Nine-thirty. Before you ask, I didn't get fired." He dodges the wadded-up tube sock Steve throws at him, the closest thing available to hand. "They let us off a couple hours before time down at the plant. By the way, you can't aim for shit, you know that?" 

Steve flips him off and then yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. He rubs at his bare chest at the same time. 

"Ooh, baby. Do that again, slower." Chris bends to unlace his boots, hissing between his teeth as the aching muscles in his back protest. "Damn. Need me a massage tonight."

"Say pretty please."

"Fuck you."

"That'll do." Chris straightens and stretches, hair in his face and over his eyes. Too damn hot when he's dirty like this. Too damn hot by far. "One of these days, I reckon we might be on the same shift and what'll happen then, I don't know. World might come to an end or something. Move over." 

"Why'd they let you leave before time?" Steve asks. 

Chris shrugs. "Fuck me if anyone said why. Scoot your ass already. Or wait, hang on." And almost before Steve knows it, he's got a lap full of scrappy working man, leaning in tight so he gets a good whiff of milled steel, hot iron and engine grease, of sweat and hard work and copper. Goes right to his head.

"God almighty," he pretends to grouch, though he doesn't try to push Chris off. He grabs on and holds tight instead to keep Chris from pelting away. Not that he thinks Chris would. They both know how to play this game. "What's got into you?" 

"Nothin'." Chris leers, classy as the day and other things are long. "Nothin', _yet_."

Words don't come easily to Steve when Chris is like this. He's too much at the best of times and dangerous to tangle with, yet once a man gets a taste he can't help but want more. 

"The things I'm gonna do to you tonight." Chris licks his lips. "We'll take a ride to hell together, you and me."

"You think so?"

"Uh-uh, boy. I know so. You do, too." 

"Fuck."

"Damn right." Patience is not Chris's specialty. He's already tugged open the loosened drawstring tie of Steve's sweats. "Besides, gotta wind down so I can get some sleep," he explains before demanding a kiss. "We oughtta leave at dawn if we're gonna make it past Camden before dark." 

"In one day? What are you planning to do, stretch your arms out and fly?" 

"If need be." 

"You're crazier'n I thought if you actually believe you can--" 

"I can do anything I set my mind to. You'll see. Stay focused. You scratch my back and I'll   
scratch yours." Chris shimmies, as if to illustrate his point.

_Want. Want. Want._ "So you're plannin' on some scratching, huh?" 

"Could be. If you ask real nice, I might just drag my nails down your back, bite you, mark you up some. Think I will." Chris hitches forward. "Want me to?" 

"Fuck you if you even think you have to ask." 

"Shut up." Chris flips them over, slides off the couch, and goes to his knees. He looks up, the   
devil in his eye, and bares his teeth. "You love me and you know it."

Yeah. See, that's the thing; that's why he goes along with these wild hares of Chris's. He _does_ love him. Loves this. Every second's worth of it, each one ticking down from way back when and counting on.


End file.
